


Weak and Wanting

by iisintrovert (Ghostlyfallows)



Series: Geraskier OnlyFans AU [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Porn, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Feelings, First Time, Geraskier, Karaoke, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Yearning, friends to erotic social media managers, onlyfans au, resolved tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26700247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostlyfallows/pseuds/iisintrovert
Summary: Not surprisingly, Geralt didn’t budge. “Jaskier, how much have you had to drink?” he demanded after Jaskier’s palms bounced off of his chest.“It’s not the alcohol! I’m serious! It's like you have no understanding of the stages to these kinds of things. I’ve seen you naked and talked you through fucking yourself but I haven’t even kissed you yet.” Jaskier clapped a hand over his mouth. “On second thought, I didn’t say that.Stopit, Geralt,why are you laughing?”The corners of his mouth still twitched, but he did his best to hide his mirth for Jaskier’s sake.“So, youdowant to kiss me?” Geralt’s head tilted to the side. Despite his confident posture, he seemed...stiff.He had the nerve to look embarrassed.Jaskier clenched his hands into fists.“Are you hesitating?” Jaskier seethed. “You’ve been playing all these games, but you have the nerve to be shy about it? Let me repeat myself, since you want to act all coy:I’ve seen your cock.You called me while you were - while you were fingering yourself to ask me tohelp. Why the hell are you looking at me like that?OfcourseI want to kiss you.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier OnlyFans AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783804
Comments: 38
Kudos: 390





	Weak and Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say that while I am not a sex worker, I do work in creative porn art/erotica, and have the utmost respect for all forms of sex work including Onlyfans performers. Geralt doesn't experience any shame or hesitation when it comes to his job, because that would not be my story to write. I will also not be including any wh*rephobia in this story. If you think I've added something that's disrespectful to sex workers, please let me know! I wouldn't want to contribute to that in any way. I wont be upset with you or offended <3
> 
> Enjoy!!!

The bottoming video was a smashing success, pardoning the pun. The fifteen second preview blew up on twitter, and although he typically avoided looking at the replies, Jaskier glowed with pride when the first few comments appeared. It was almost sweet, seeing how many people rallied together to enjoy something he’d been enjoying for a while now. 

His pride was only bruised by the fact that Geralt hadn’t called him since he posted the video. 

Jaskier knew it was a big deal. He could only imagine how much money was coming through on the other end. Breaking the top five percent had been a huge milestone, and it seemed Geralt was getting closer and closer to the top 2%. Jaskier knew he should be caring more about his own cut of the money than feeling _pride_ of all things, but he felt as though he had a large hand in Geralt’s success. Geralt’s fans were only one step away from being his, in a round-about way. 

Afterall, the bottoming video wouldn’t have been possible without his coaching. 

The memory of the call lingered in the back of his mind for days after they hung up. He’d watched the actual video more times than he could count, and it still pales in comparison to the memory of Geralt’s gruff voice in his ear, the gasp he inhaled when he first sank down - 

“Not fucking now,” Jaskier groaned, rolling over into his body pillow. 

The memory of tiny noises, muffled via the speakerphone plagued his thoughts. During the day was difficult enough, but he was usually able to distract himself. The videos were amazing, and they still held a special place in his heart (and the pit of his stomach) but something about the call being just for _him,_ a private moment that they shared together, made his heart glow and his face turn bright red.

And even the memory of Geralt begging, moaning into the receiver, moaning his _name_ , none of it held a candle to the tired, _“Goodnight, Jaskier,”_ that preceded the click at the end of the call.

Jaskier sucked in a deep breath. He opened one eye to look at the digital alarm clock on his bedside table. It was too late - if he thought about Geralt’s voice any more, he’d be losing sleep over this, and that would not do. He needed at least eight and a half hours and copious amounts of coffee to function during the day. 

He reached for his phone, hoping to play music or a video to calm him down so he didn’t get any more worked up, and eradicate the impure thoughts from his brain. When he flipped it over, his top notification was for a new post on Geralt’s page. 

“Oh, be still my spirit,” he whispered into the darkness.

Part of him wanted to chastise the other man - he expressly _told_ him to stop posting so late at night, afterall - but that part was drowned out by his absolutely abysmal impulse control. Before he realized his fingers were moving, he had unlocked his phone, navigated to Geralt’s page, and was scrolling past his pinned post (the bottoming video jesus _fuck_ ) to see the most recent image. 

The worst part was, it was a pretty innocent photo. It was candid, maybe Yen or Ciri or a friend took it for him. Maybe someone more. He was smiling, looking up past the camera. Jaskier’s heart pounded against his ribcage. He bit his lip to keep from smiling. Just looking at the curve of his face made him want to smile back. 

His thumb fiddled with the screen, scrolling up and down to see the full image. His eyes caught the caption at the bottom, and his smile faltered.

_for a special someone_

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. He read the words over and over again, tracing each letter, each collection of pixels until he wasn’t sure if his vision was blurry from hyper focusing on the blue light or if those were - _are those tears?_

He set the phone down with intense gentleness, then stared at his shaking hand. 

Whoever took that photo, it wasn’t him. 

Was it the special someone? Was it someone else?

Was that call just a fluke?

What the _fuck_ was Geralt doing? Did he even realize what he was doing to Jaskier?

Jaskier passed denial, and moved straight on to anger. There was absolutely zero chance in mother fucking hell that Geralt didn’t know _exactly_ what he was doing to Jaskier’s heart. He cleared everything he posted on his page with Jaskier. Why would this be an exception? Was he trying to get Jaskier off his back, convince him their… their _phone sex_ didn’t mean anything to him? Keep him on a string, always wondering if that “special someone” was him?

This was an explicit attack. This was war. 

Jaskier didn’t even click _like_ on the post or comment to boost it.

“Two can play at this game,” he grumbled.

He rolled over and ignored the torrent of emotions pouring through him.

\--

The next day, he ignored Geralt at the car line. He was stationed outside, and pretended like he didn’t see the friendly wave from the driver’s side door of the pick up truck when Ciri hoisted herself up into the passenger’s seat. Jaskier looked firmly in the other direction, his expression stony. 

When Geralt sent him teasing photo sets and video clips, his responses were curt and void of emotion or encouragement. He accepted the wire of his cut of Geralt’s monthly payout without comment. He didn’t ask Geralt how excited he was about his newest percentage milestones, or tease him about putting all of it away into Ciri’s savings instead of treating himself to a sleep shirt that didn’t have holes at the hem and neckline. He was cutting Geralt out, not letting him weaponize his perfect chest and jawline that could slice butter to lead him on.

All week, his chest hurt. It was inexplicable. 

(It was entirely explicable.)

(Jaskier didn’t want to think about the explanation.)

(He pretended it was heartburn, and ate ice cream instead of dealing with his feelings like an adult.)

Friday came, and he felt entirely dull. It was noticeable to everyone around him - Triss gave him eyebrows over the table at every staff meeting, and students avoided him in the hallway. He wasn’t the kind of asshole teacher to dress code students when he was pissed off, but they avoided him regardless. When he was packing his stuff up in his office in the afternoon, Triss knocked on his door frame and he glared up at her. 

“Woah there Mr. Heartbreaker, you better be careful with that death glare.” she chided him. “What is up with you lately? Did that dad you’re sleeping with stop responding to your emails? Did his wife find out?”

“Shut _up,_ Triss,” Jaskier hissed, and _yeah,_ it was over reacting, but it felt good to say it to someone, given he couldn’t say it to who he really wanted to.

Luckily for him, Triss was used to Jaskier’s shit. “Okay, you need to get drunk and sing karaoke. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Jaskier gave her another one of his signature glares, but she just laughed. “This isn’t funny. I'm waging war. It’s war, Triss! There’s no joy in war.”

Triss sighed and turned to walk out of his office. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Wear red. And glitter.” Jaskier slammed his notebook shut and hung out of the doorway to whisper-scream at her. “And I didn’t sleep with him, don’t tell anyone that! I’m serious this time!”

\--

As much as he hated to admit it, Triss was absolutely right that he needed to get drunk and sing karaoke. He ignored her texts, but was standing on the corner of his block in a silky red dress shirt and the tightest pair of black pants he owned. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and he had on a gold necklace. As he was betting, Triss arrived in a shimmery red and gold dress to match. Because if he was going to pretend they were the baddest bitches out on the town, instead of a sad adult man pining over a softcore porn artist leading him on and his very supportive friend who didn’t drink, they had to at least look the part. 

“Drinks! Drinks! Drinks!” Triss chanted when they finally got into the bar, tugging Jaskier along by his wrist, flagging down the nearest bartender as she pushed through the crowd. 

Jaskier flagged down the bartender and yelled his order over the sound of a bachelorette party’s rendition of “Baby got back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot. He got a Shirley temple for Triss to make up for being such an asshole to her earlier that day, and ordered a handful of tequila shots for himself. 

The whole salt - shot - lime ritual grounded him temporarily, before the alcohol really hit him and he started to sing like a canary. 

“And then he just hasn’t called me since. I can’t even get a text that isn’t related to work!” Jaskier bemoaned into Triss' shoulder. 

“You poor thing.” Triss said dryly as she pet his hair. 

The music cut off and a laughing group of women stumbled off the Karaoke stage. The announcer came on over the loudspeaker with a crackle of feedback. “And now, ladies, gentlemen, and those who lyeth betwixt, our next performer is a regular. Last week he dazzled us with a soul - and eardrum - shattering rendition of Ariana Grande’s _Dangerous Woman._ Everyone give a warm welcome to...drumroll please… _the Red Bard!_

At the sound of his stage name, drunk people cheered for their next round of second hand embarrassment.

“Oh! That’s me,” Jaskier sniffled, whipping his cheeks clear of tears on the edges of his sleeves. “How do I look?”

“Busted.”

“Perfect.” He scrubbed his cheeks to get some more color, downed his last shot, spit the lime out onto a napkin, and strode up to the stage with as much confidence as he could muster.

Jaskier’s rendition of Mitski’s _Nobody_ was a drunken masterpiece, and by the end of it, he felt marginally better. His vocal range slipped somewhere interesting when he was at the ‘busted’ stage of the night. Usually it took a few hours to get there, but tonight was for forgetting. 

He stumbled off the stage back to Triss’ side. She made everyone sitting at the bar clap for his performance. 

He bowed deeply and slurred, “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here every weekend,”

“Don’t we know it,” muttered the bartender whipping down glasses.

He leaned into Triss’ arm and whispered in her ear, “Fuck him.”

“Yeah!” she cheered, “Fuck him! He doesn’t deserve you!”

He pushed off of the bar and punched the air. “I don’t deserve to get lead on!” he yelled.

“Yeah!”

“I’m going to call him and tell him what I think of him!”

“Ye - _NO,_ oh God, not again -”

She was too late. Jaskier was already stumbling for the exit, his cell phone clutched in his fist. 

“Hey - Jaskier!”

He stepped into the alleyway and stared at his contact for Geralt. 

Geralt picked up on the third ring. 

Jaskier hadn’t planned far enough ahead for this moment. 

“Uhm,” he started, swallowing hard to clear his throat. He hiccuped. “This is Jaskier.”

_“I know. I have your contact saved.”_

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jaskier fumed. “Y’know, ‘m really tired of all of you… all o’ your _bullshit._ ” He couldn’t think of a word that was scathing enough for how he really felt, so he stuck to the basics. _“F’ck_ you.”

_“Jaskier, are you drunk?”_ Geralt’s voice switched from gruff to concerned, which for some reason, Jaskier found utterly hilarious.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.” He hissed. “You haven’ even paid attention to me in days. I was beginning to think you forgot I existed. But you already knew all of that, because you’ve been doin’ it on _purpose,_ you big lousy -”

_“Jaskier, I’m coming to get you.”_

That shocked him silent for a good moment. 

When the words finally did process, he was angry again. “Don’t you dare pity me, I’m having fun. I’m singing karaoke with my _friend._ Because you haven’t exactly been very forthcoming in _that_ department -”

The phone clicked, and Jaskier focussed his blurry vision down at the screen. Geralt had hung up on him.

It took most of his remaining patience to keep from throwing his phone against the asphalt. 

He sat down on the curb and put his head in his hands. His tailbone hurt from hard ground, and his ankles hurt from the flashy shoes. It wouldn’t have killed them to add arch support.

Jaskier stared into his blank phone screen, waiting for Geralt to arrive. Surely he knew exactly where to go. There couldn’t be too many Karaoke bars in town. His face stared back at him in the black glass. He looked… busted. His hair was awry, he had dark circles from not sleeping, and the glitter had melted down his face as he sweat, giving him sad glittery track marks instead of cheek-bone highlighting track marks. Triss was right. She always was.

A car pulled up against the curb. Jaskier saw the Timbs before the rest of him. He stepped up onto the curb beside him, and reached for his shoulder, but Jaskier waved his arm wildly in protest. 

“D’nt touch me,” he grumbled, scrambling up to his feet to take a few steps back. He needed room to breathe. “I’m _pissed off,_ in case you couldn’t tell.”

Geralt crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans. His hair was down.

He looked really nice.

“Why did you really call me? It can’t have just been to yell at me.”

“I -” Jaskier didn’t want to admit Geralt was the only thing on his mind - and that meant yes, it _was_ to yell at him, but also to hear his voice. 

It didn’t help that as soon as Jaskier saw the concerned look on his face, hearing his voice in person, and seeing shirt sleeves stretch over his folded arms, most of his anger dissipated into thin air.

“I really wanted to yell at you.” Otherwise it would have sounded harsh, but the slight crack in his voice revealed his vulnerability.

Geralt’s stare was unrelenting, and although he wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest, he did wilt slightly under the glare. It was too heavy for him to shoulder. 

“And I maybe… needed a ride.” he lied.

Geralt tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowing. “Am I your emergency contact? You’re my daughter’s teacher.”

Jaskier pouted. “How is _that_ too far of a boundary to cross? Of all the other boundaries you’ve practically thundered over - all of the other boundaries that should exist between -” his furious tone dissipated before he could complete the thought. 

Friends. 

He wished he could have just said _friends_ without worrying about Geralt denying him that. 

Jaskier’s stomach twisted, only in part from the alcohol in his otherwise empty stomach. He was a lovestruck fool, pining over someone he wanted to call his _friend._ His first instinct was to be bold: call them friends, let Geralt deny it if he so chose, regardless of the pain it would cause Jaskier to see him sneer at the term. Another option was cowardice, turn on his heels and forget his relationship with Geralt even existed. Keep walls up, not let this man walk all over him for the sake of admiring his calf muscles as he did so.

He went for bolder. 

“You’re just a big, old, mean, boundary-crosser!” he shouted, pushing Geralt in the chest.

Not surprisingly, Geralt didn’t budge. “Jaskier, how much have you had to drink?” he demanded after Jaskier’s palms bounced off of his chest.

“It’s not the alcohol! I’m serious! It's like you have no understanding of the stages to these kinds of things. I’ve seen you naked and talked you through fucking yourself but I haven’t even kissed you yet.” Jaskier clapped a hand over his mouth. “On second thought, I didn’t say that. _Stop_ it, Geralt, _why are you laughing?_ ”

The corners of his mouth still twitched, but he did his best to hide his mirth for Jaskier’s sake. 

“So, you _do_ want to kiss me?” Geralt’s head tilted to the side. Despite his confident posture, he seemed...stiff. 

He had the nerve to look embarrassed.

Jaskier clenched his hands into fists.

“Are you hesitating?” Jaskier seethed. “You’ve been playing all these games, but you have the nerve to be shy about it? Let me repeat myself, since you want to act all coy: _I’ve seen your cock._ You called me while you were - while you were fingering yourself to ask me to _help. Why the hell are you looking at me like that?_ Of _course_ I want to kiss you.”

Geralt’s lips parted slightly, then they closed. His shoulders deflated - his eyes were wide and stony cold, but there was something else there. 

_Relief._

Jaskier’s hands - clenched into fists at his sides - relaxed. 

“Don’t -” his voice cracked and he had to start all over. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Don’t do that, Geralt.”

Geralt took a step closer. He shook his head and hung his head low, and that wasn’t a stony expression, that was a quivering lower lip and eyes shiny from impending tears. Whether they were from frustration, sadness, overemotion, the cloud of cigarette smoke that still hung in the air, Jaskier didn’t have time to tell. 

Grass, laundry detergent, and vanilla shampoo. That’s what his hair smelled like when he leaned forward and kissed him.

It was gentle. Almost too gentle. A whisper of a kiss. A brush of lips so chaste had never felt so filthy. Nothing so small had made Jaskier lose his breath so fast.

Jaskier pressed his forehead against Geralt’s and breathed out a puff of air. “Now, like you mean it,” he whispered. 

Geralt delivered. 

His hands wrapped around Jaskier’s upper back, pulling him close against the hard line of his chest. His palms practically engulfed his shoulder blades. Fingernails bit down into his skin through his shirt. Jaskier sobered up quick enough at the first pass of tongue, and then lost himself in the high of Geralt’s hand on his waist and his hair between his fingers and the brush of stubble against his chin and _they were touching from knee to forehead and it was all so much and_ \- 

If their first kiss was a whisper, this was a scream. Geralt nipped at his lower lip until Jaskier was sure it would bruise. Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, clumsy enough to tug it, and the resulting moan sent a shiver down his spine. 

Jaskier wrenched away, only far enough so their lips couldn’t brush and be pulled back into that vortex. Their noses bumped and their foreheads met. Jaskier combed Geralt’s hair back behind his ears, keeping his hands on the back of his neck to steady himself. Geralt’s hands were planted firmly on his waist, which did very little to keep him steady. At the squeeze of those palms, his body wanted so desperately to keel over. 

_“That,”_ Jaskier breathed. “Goes _strictly_ against protocol for parent-teacher interactions,”

Geralt chuckled, and his laugh could have lit up the street corner. “Forgive me. I wasn’t trying to scheme.”

Jaskier thumbed a strand of silver hair out of his eyes. “Then why the hell couldn’t you just come out and say it?”

“I didn’t think you would want me,” Geralt whispered, his lips quirked up into a small smile.

The rock at the bottom of Jaskier’s stomach turned into a bottomless pit. He felt like such an _asshole._ He was supposed to teach tweenagers how to manage their emotions, and he’d been caught in the biggest and most damning miscommunication. Geralt wasn’t some asshole toying with his emotions - he’d never made a move in person, even now, because he was under the impression Jaskier wouldn’t reciprocate. He was waiting for Jaskier, putting the ball in his court, over and over and over, and Jaskier hadn’t realized it was his turn to swing.

“You’re too damn polite,” Jaskier hissed, but there was no venom. “You should have just invited me over instead of calling.”

Geralt squeezed his waist - _oh god his thumbs almost touch_ \- and huffed, “I respect you too much.”

Jaskier bit his lip. “And what if I want you to disrespect me? What if I wanted that?”

Geralt visibly shuddered, and Jaskier kissed his open lips. This time it was his turn to take control - he pulled Geralt’s face down to meet his, and didn’t hesitate to dig his fingers into his scalp, tug his hair away from his face with just enough pressure for it to sting. Geralt sighed into his mouth and a pool of molten heat began to collect in the bottom of his stomach, heating him from the inside out, turning his bones to jelly.

“I’m still kind of mad at you,” Jaskier whispered after pulling away long enough to catch his breath. “I could have done that a long time ago.”

“Prove it,” Geralt hissed back.

He did.

If their first kiss was a whisper, this kiss was a prayer. 

“Take me home,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt nodded and hooked his fingers through his belt loops. 

-

Jaskier deserved an Olympic medal in restraint for keeping his hands to himself throughout the entire car ride. 

Geralt was kind enough not to chide him for bouncing his leg in the passenger’s seat, but his jaw was still tense from clenching his teeth shut. Jaskier couldn’t help it - he hadn’t been this amped up since he took his first jello shot in college. 

Geralt was like getting cross-faded - his body was running on overdrive, but for once, his mind was almost blissfully blank. 

“Almost there,” Geralt grunted. 

Jaskier’s hands made fists on top of his knees to avoid pulling at the seams of his clothes. Geralt’s apartment wasn’t too far away from downtown, but every block they passed felt like ages. He wanted to get out of his clothes yesterday. 

After such a long game of cat and mouse, it was inevitable he’d be naked in under an hour. He was praying for thirty minutes, _tops_. 

Speaking of the devil,

“I want you to top me.”

Geralt almost hit someone’s mailbox. 

He steadied the pick up truck and houses flew by. “Jesus Christ, Jaskier,” he huffed. 

“I just figured I’d start the conversation now, seeing as we’re clearly in a rush. I don’t have any problems if you don’t want that, but you _did_ just throw me for a loop there and it’s only fair. Otherwise, I’m entirely open to anything. Everything, really, I’m not picky, but you know that already, you-”

“Jaskier.”

“You don’t have to be shy, it’s 2020! Sex positivity is all the rage! You have to clearly communicate these things, Geralt!”

“Not while I’m going fifteen over the speed limit,” Geralt grit out through his teeth. 

“Oh.” Jaskier gulped and scrubbed his palms over the tops of his thighs. “Right. Got it. My lips are sealed. For now, anyway.”

_“Jaskier.”_

_“Alright,_ alright, if you wanted roadhead to go on the ‘never’ column of our BDSM contract, you really should have said so before you let me get into this entanglement. It would be a dealbreaker, but I’ll cut you some slack for being so pretty.”

\--

Geralt let them into the apartment on his second try of unlocking the door. His hands were fumbling, and he looked more tense than Jaskier had ever seen him. Jaskier kept a foot away from him as they stepped into the main hallway, even though he wanted to run his hands up and down Geralt’s back, he wasn’t so sure that would help calm his nerves.

“‘S not much,” Geralt grunted as he dropped his wallet and keys onto the kitchen table. 

Jaskier beamed. “It’s lovely!” 

Geralt’s fingers twitched at his side. Jaskier didn’t think he’d be one to fidget. That was his thing.

“Drinks?” he asked, hoping to give Geralt something to do with his hands and himself something to do with his mouth until Geralt gained the courage to sweep him off his feet. 

Geralt had… water. And vodka on the rocks. Neither of which interested Jaskier very much, but he sipped the water to stave off a potential hangover. And, to make Geralt happy. He shoved the glass into Jaskier’s hands while it was still damp from condensation, and stared at him until he drank at least half of it.

“So,” Jaskier started, setting the glass down on the counter with a clink. “Are these Ciri’s?”

He gestured at the fridge, where a few pencil drawings of dragons and horses were taped up. Geralt’s face lit up. He looked at the drawings and his eyes softened. Jaskier’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“They’re quite good,” he said. Geralt turned back to look at him. “She isn’t here. I wouldn’t have invited you if she was.”

“That’s good, I wouldn’t have wanted to come.”

He lifted his glass to take another sip to give himself something to do, but Geralt intercepted his hand. He wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s wrist and with the alcohol in his system, he couldn’t hold back the hiss he let out when he felt his fingers envelop his wrist. Surely Geralt could feel his heartbeat in his grip. It was pounding against his pulse point like a drum.

Geralt crowded him against the counter. Jaskier’s hand flew up and pressed flat against Geralt’s chest on instinct. He felt his heart beat, too. He settled against the hard surface naturally, his body automatically relaxing in Geralt’s grip. The other man’s eyes were heavy lidded and his pupils were wide and dark against his irises. His lips parted slightly, and Jaskier traced the planes of his face, down his high cheekbones, over the harsh line of his jaw, until his gaze caught the bob of his Adam’s apple, and his mouth went dry.

“I still can’t believe -” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier didn’t give him enough time to finish

He leaned up against Geralt’s chest until his hands were trapped between their torsos. Geralt’s grip on his wrist tightened. Their lips were a hair’s breadth away. He fisted his hands in Geralt’s shirt and tugged him down just as Geralt shoved him harder back into the counter. 

Their lips met in a crash - Jaskier gasped at the bite of teeth and the pressure digging into the small of his back. He pushed deeper into Geralt’s grip, kissing him back like he was running out of time. 

Fucking _finally._

His back and wrists were starting to ache, but he wasn’t complaining. He tugged against Geralt’s grip and he let go of his hands, giving him enough space to hoist himself up onto the counter and pull Geralt to stand between his legs.

“Is this comfortable?” Geralt asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jaskier cupped his face and pulled him close again, sinking his teeth into Geralt’s lower lip. 

What _was_ getting to be less comfortable were his unbearably tight pants. With Geralt in all of his chiseled muscled glory pressed against him, Jaskier’s pants were growing even more unbearably tight. 

Geralt’s hands wrapped around his hips - one thumb brushed his fly, the other tucked under his waistband - and Jaskier’s mind short circuited. 

“Fucking _cocks,_ ” he hissed, his eyes and teeth clenched shut to keep from coming in his pants right then and there. 

“Yes?” Geralt asked, feigning innocence. His thumb traced a circle over the metal button holding Jaskier’s pants closed.

Jaskier _whined._

Geralt kissed his jaw, then his neck, right at the sensitive spot behind his ear. “Come on, you can ask nicer than that,” he whispered into Jaskier’s earlobe.

“Bedroom,” he demanded. “Now.”

“Good enough.”

Jaskier clutched tightly to Geralt’s shoulders as he hoisted him up off the counter, his hands braced under the backs of Jaskier’s thighs. His head tipped forward and rested against the crook of Geralt’s shoulder as he walked them back towards his bedroom. He kicked open the door and instead of tossing Jaskier down on the mattress like he was expecting, he sat down on the edge of the bed, splaying Jaskier’s thighs over his lap, and tucked both of his hands into the back of his pants. 

Jaskier rocked forward instinctively, and they both groaned at the brush of their cocks through their clothes. Geralt steadied him with his grip.

“Woah,” Jaskier murmured, ever apt at conversations, and Geralt smirked. 

“Is it better or worse in person?”

Jaskier’s head went blank as they rocked against each other once more, then realized what Geralt was asking him. “Are you serious? Better than actually getting to _touch_ you?”

He ran his hands down his shoulders, over his biceps, before finally palming his broad chest, his fingertips doing their best at digging into his firm muscles. 

Geralt tensed up, although he didn’t take his hands off of Jaskier’s ass. 

Jaskier tilted his head. “What is it?”

“I’m serious.”

“Are you…” Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “Geralt, it’s _better. So much better._ Believe me, I’ve been thinking about this since you first grabbed my hand at the store.” 

Geralt was thousand-yard staring at something behind him, refusing to meet Jaskier’s eyes. “So you’re not just here because you want to get a taste of the real thing?”

“Is this a proposal?”

“Excuse me?”

“You want this to be long term. That’s what you’re asking, right?” Geralt’s mouth opened, then closed again, and Jaskier continued uninterrupted. “Yes, Geralt, I like you. I think you’re gorgeous and I’ve watched your videos more times than I’m willing to admit. _And_ -” he quickly started when Geralt’s expression soured. “I can’t stop thinking about you. _You. You_ you. It’s more than just… than just fucking a porn star. I can’t get your smile out of my mind.”

Geralt’s fingers dipped deeper into his pants and Jaskier shivered at the tension building between them. 

He captured Geralt’s mouth in a kiss until he fell backwards against the mattress. Jaskier ground down on him and groaned into his mouth.

When they both pulled away to catch their breath, Jaskier murmured into his lips, “We can talk about our second date in the morning. Right now I want you to fuck me.”

Geralt huffed and nearly ripped his jeans in his first attempt at sliding them down Jaskier’s hips. He shoved him off the bed in his rush to pull his own jeans down his thighs.

Jaskier hopped on one foot at a time, kicking his pants off of his ankle and pulling his socks off in a hurry. When he clambered back onto the bed to straddle Geralt’s hips, Geralt’s pants had already disappeared. Jaskier grabbed his boxer briefs by the waistband and pulled them down -

Jaskier was right. 

It was _so_ much better in person. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. 

“Are you -”

“It’s going to work,” Jaskier said firmly. “It will fit. You better have enough lube.” 

“That’s a given.”

Geralt slid his hands up Jaskier’s thighs, tickling the dusting of hair on his legs. His fingers dipped under the lower hem of his boxer briefs as his thumbs massaged circles into his skin. Jaskier bit his lip - he felt thoroughly disheveled already. He’d sobered up quite a bit, but his heart was still hammering, and his head was zeroed in on Geralt’s chest moving underneath his t-shirt. 

“Off,” he demanded, tugging at the fabric. He noticed the stretch marks in the fabric from clutching it earlier, and had half a mind to feel sorry for ruining one of Geralt’s shirts.

Fortunately enough for him, any guilt in his mind disappeared completely when Geralt pulled the shirt up over his head. His arms stretched above his head, pulling his pectorals up deliciously. His abs were fine enough to grate cheese on, and the soft gray and brown hair traced down an adonis belt - it was a _crime_ Jaskier couldn’t put his mouth on that adonis belt in this position. 

Geralt was fully nude, staring up at Jaskier like he hung the moon. Jaskier kept the silky red shirt on, hoping it distracted Geralt enough that he didn’t notice the blush that had migrated from Jaskier’s ears and was likely rosy red on his cheeks, neck, and most of his chest. He snapped the waistband of his underwear, regrettably still on. 

Jaskier got the memo and took them off, then sat back on Geralt’s lap. The skin-on-skin contact was almost too much to handle. 

“Up here,” Geralt beckoned, hooking his hands behind Jaskier’s knees. Jaskier gulped as he tugged him up to sit on his chest.

“Like this?” he asked. 

All the thoughts - whatever was still let - disappeared from his brain when he looked down at Geralt’s face like this. Sprawled on his back, his silver hair pooled on the sheets, his eyes heavy and dark with arousal. Jaskier’s cock bobbed in front of his face, his knees on either side of Geralt’s broad shoulders. Geralt grinned, and his heart skipped a beat. 

“You -” he started, but his voice cracked. “Geralt.”

_“Jaskier.”_

He licked one long, hot stripe up Jaskier’s cock. 

Jaskier shook violently, falling forward on his hands. Both of Geralt’s hands came up to brace his hips. Their thumbs rubbed his hips, which did little to keep him from reacting to the sight of his cock resting on Geralt’s lips.

“Holy _shit,”_ he hissed. 

He wound his fingers in Geralt’s hair, which only encouraged him to keep _ruining_ Jaskier. He gently kissed the head of his cock, then licked his lips and sucked the head into his mouth. 

Jaskier groaned, his hips jerking forward as Geralt’s mouth wrapped around him. He fell from his hands to his elbows, his back arching as Geralt held his hips firmly in place. 

Geralt’s hands slid from where his thighs met his hips around to his ass, squeezing with enough force to shock a whine out of Jaskier’s mouth. He lifted his head off the bed and sucked him deeper, his fingers getting closer and closer to -

“Lube, Geralt,” Jaskier gasped out when he had half a mind to do so. 

Geralt hummed - his lips still wrapped around Jaskier’s cock, and the vibrations did not go unnoticed - and shuffled backwards until his head was braced on a pillow at the headboard. He yanked Jaskier forward by his wrist until he was straddling his chest again, but this time he was close enough to riffle around in the top drawer of his bedside table. 

Jaskier was too busy holding tight to the headboard until his knuckles turned white to pay much attention to Geralt’s hands. That was, until He heard the tell-tale click of the lube bottle opening, and Geralt’s fingers returned to his ass. They were cold and slippery and slipped between his cheeks until the pads of his two middle fingers were pressed gently against his perineum. Jaskier leaned his forehead against his bicep and looked down at Geralt’s face. He looked just as disheveled as Jaskier felt.

He didn’t break the intense eye-contact as his fingers traced his rim, didn’t break away even as his middle finger slipped inside up to his second knuckle. 

Jaskier sucked in a deep breath as Geralt pressed his fingers inside, and then felt too full to breathe out. 

If Geralt could have grinned around his cock, he would have. 

As it was, he used his grip on Jaskier’s ass to rock him forwards and backwards. Forwards into his mouth, and backwards into his waiting fingers, until he was a puddle of relaxed muscles and desperation above him. 

It was then Jaskier realized his mouth was open and he was talking. 

“Fuck, baby, please… don’t - don’t stop, _fuck,_ you look so fucking good, I can’t wait to feel you,” Jaskier choked on his own words. He couldn’t decide whether to thrust into Geralt’s mouth or backwards on his fingers - there were two, now, curling and stroking parts of him that made his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest heaving with the exertion. His thighs strained, but he couldn’t stop lifting them up and rocking them between the sensations battling for his concentration. It was all so overwhelming, so _good,_ he wanted more. He wanted so much all at once it was hard to do much more than bite his lip and groan. 

Geralt pulled off his cock with an obscene popping noise and licked his lips. Jaskier almost had a heart attack. 

His lips were bright red and almost swollen from sucking him off, and saliva mixed with precum connected his lower lip and Jaskier’s cock in a string. It was _filthy_ and his cock twitched, which only made Geralt grin, which only pushed Jaskier closer to cardiac arrest.

“Fuck me,” he said, more as an expletive than a direction.

But hey, if the shoe fits, fuck me in the ass, or however the saying goes.

“Yeah,” Geralt gasped, his voice gravelly and fucked-out. “Now. You ready?”

Jaskier nodded and rocked back on his fingers. Now that it was just those, he could dedicate all of his concentration to the sweet stretch. Geralt clearly wasn’t out of practice. 

_“Yes,_ fuck, I’m ready,”

Geralt maneuvered him so he could lean back on the headboard easier, and slipped his fingers out of his ass. His cock brushed the curve of his ass when he shuffled backwards to straddle his hips, and the hot hardness against his skin made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Jaskier got up on his knees. He positioned Geralt’s cock with one hand, and held his hand in the other. Geralt’s fingers were weaved through his own, clutching hard, where their joined hands rested on Geralt’s chest. 

He felt them squeeze tighter as he sank down. 

The stretch was… _wow,_ It burned at first, but the sheer mental image of Geralt’s cock finally being inside of him was enough to negate the stretch. He was so thick, and Jaskier felt so totally full. 

He didn’t think his quads would be able to take much more, but he got his second wind at the sight of Geralt’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

Jaskier planted his other hand on Geralt’s chest and used it as leverage to lift his hips and slowly lower them back down. Geralt’s lips parted and he groaned, the voice low and wanting and coming directly from deep inside of his broad chest. Jaskier gripped the base of his own cock, not wanting to come before he got to ride this out a little longer. 

Geralt, for all his sexpertise and dick-sucking-while-fingering magic, looked just as unhinged as Jaskier felt underneath him. His head tipped back into the white pillow, his mouth open in a constant stream of moans as Jaskier rolled his hips over his cock. 

“Jaskier,” he gasped out, reaching out to run his hands up and down Jaskier’s thighs. “You’re so - I can’t -”

“Shh,” Jaskier soothed him, although his own voice was rough sounding and fucked out. 

As he sank all the way down and rolled his hips in small circles, he ran his hands up and down Geralt’s muscled torso. He realized something about their proportions. Geralt’s waist, his thighs, his cock, he was perfectly built for this, and yet… 

“I think -” he gasped out. “I think I could fuck you while sucking you off.”

Geralt bit down on his lip and groaned. “Fuck, don’t - don’t say stuff like that while I’m -”

“I’m serious,” Jaskier gasped. “Next time. I might have to do some - _ah, fuck_ \- stretches before hand, but I’ll try -”

“Next time,” Geralt made a noise from the back of his throat. “Promise. Fuck, you’re going to kill me.”

Jaskier collapsed forward on Geralt’s chest. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his fingers clenching as Geralt slipped out of him until it was just his head inside of him. 

“You’re… god, Jaskier,” Geralt moaned.

“I’m too tired, you have to -” Jaskier started, and Geralt answered before he could finish his sentence. His voice was cut off with his own moan. 

Geralt planted his feet firmly on the bed, hiking his hips up and sliding all the way back inside of Jaskier in one stroke. He wrapped his own arms around his waist and started jackhammering him, fucking up into him with all he had left. Jaskier cried out, his hands scrambling for purchase on Geralt’s shoulders, all of the breath leaving his lungs at once. 

When he finally did catch his breath, he almost lost it again as his cock was rutting between their stomachs. It was still wet from Geralt’s mouth and slid against their skin in a way that was too good to be true. Geralt’s hips pistoning against his ass were almost enough to knock him over. 

It was all building up, compounding and burning at the base of his stomach, in his ass, in his cock, at the tips of his fingers, the backs of his ears, his inner wrists. Geralt’s fingernails dug into his skin and his breath caught in his throat. It was all so fucking much, and too fucking good, and he wished he could feel the hot grind of their bodies every second of every day.

Geralt grabbed his face by his jaw and kissed him, his tongue fucking inside of his mouth just as intently as his cock slid deeper into his ass, and Jaskier saw white. 

He groaned into the other man’s mouth, wanting to warn him, but it was too late. Geralt’s cock brushed against his prostate on every stroke, and it was too much with the slide of their tense stomachs against his cock. Jaskier whimpered into his mouth as he came. He writhed in Geralt’s arms, his fingers squeezing and scratching at Geralt’s skin, his hips rocking frantically back and forth with all the energy he had left. 

When he returned down to earth, Geralt was _still fucking him._

“Jaskier, you’re so fucking hot, I - fuck, _fuck,_ fuck,” Geralt groaned. His voice was hoarse from exertion, but his hips were still pumping. 

Jaskier clenched up from the overstimulation, his body too exhausted to push up and give his spent cock any relief, but it was all so good, even as it made him shudder. 

Geralt came inside him with a groan. His teeth bit down on Jaskier’s lower lip, and once again he was reminded of how sharp they were. In his sex-addled mind, he imagined Geralt covering him in hickeys, and nearly passed out from the thought. 

They lied there for a near embarrassing amount of time, just letting sweat cool, tangled in one another’s arms. Jaskier could forget about all of the anxiety from this week - it had already disappeared, even after hours of plaguing him and ruining his sleep schedule. He almost felt like shit for not realizing it sooner, but there was no use beating himself up about it. Not with Geralt’s arm slung lax around his shoulders, the scent of his hair in his nose, his come _literally_ in his ass. He felt desired. He knew it wasn’t for nothing. He couldn’t even imagine a time where he felt the opposite. 

Jaskier pressed his cheek against Geralt’s warm skin and breathed in the scent of his hair. His hand twirled a strand of the silver hair into a curl, then let go, watching it bounce back into place. He did this a few times until both of them caught their breath enough to talk. 

“I think you’ve ruined me forever. How am I supposed to have sex again if that is what I’m expecting. Holy _shit,_ you’re a God.”

Geralt laughed, and Jaskier buried his nose in his chest. He felt the rumble like it was coming from inside himself. 

“I would hope not. Erm, for now, at least.” Geralt amended. His eyes were closed, but Jaskier recognized a tinge of embarrassment, and maybe self-consciousness. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about with me.”

He lifted his head and rested his chin on his hands, looking down at Geralt from on top of his chest. “I said we could talk about it in the morning. Coffee? It could be our first date.”

Geralt smiled, and Jaskier filed away the sight into his memory. That smile was much better in person too. 

“We should shower first.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled over onto his side, and his cock twitched at the sight of his come on Geralt’s abs. Well. Discovering new kinks was always fun. 

“You know, I intend to follow through on that promise.” Jaskier grinned cheekily. “You know the one. It will be a feat of gymnastics, but I’m very determined.”

Geralt laughed again - a hearty laugh, accompanied by a wide, toothy smile. “I’ll hold you to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ghostlyfallows/status/1304470039244857344?s=20)   
>  [Tumblr](https://ghostlyfallows.tumblr.com/post/616044109002686464/jaskier-in-rope-bondage-inspired-by-brawlite-s)
> 
> I'm going to be drawing something for the upcoming installment and posting it on my twitter and tumblr, so please follow me there/scream at me about this fic!!!! There's other art there as well.


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